


Deficit and Surplus

by magicianlogician12



Series: Fortune and its Favor [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, implied past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 19:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19774573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicianlogician12/pseuds/magicianlogician12
Summary: Marivale Coryth, notorious pirate and unrepentant conwoman, has been terrorizing pirate crews up and down the Outer Rim for years, taking their wealth for her own before leaving them leaderless and gutted. For once, her lifestyle has caught up with her, in the form of the only pirate captain she ever regretted robbing–Paxton Rall.





	Deficit and Surplus

It was hot as hell on Ord Mantell.

Avilatan’s Rest cantina provided a respite from the heat, both for those few who lived within Fort Garnik’s walls after forced relocation from other nearby settlements as well as the Republic soldiers unlucky enough to be tasked to reclaim them. As with all cantinas, there was a constant, droning noise of background chatter and occasional spikes of laughter, but wholesale it was certainly not the most exciting watering hole Marivale had ever been to. Not that she expected much different for a world in the heart of Republic space.

But _damn_ , what she wouldn’t give to be anywhere else but here.

 _It’s hot as hell on Ord Mantell,_ Marivale echoed to herself as she swished her untouched drink around idly in a glass, watching the contents spin, _catchy line. Too bad I don’t have anything to go with it._

‘Anything’ could have meant a lot, in that context. ‘Anything’ could have meant a tune to hum along with it, a thread of music to give it some life, or even just another fucking _line_ that would make it more than a stupid phrase that her stupid brain conjured out of nowhere. Probably the heat getting to her. She’d ditched her hat over an hour ago by now, and even within the cantina, the outside heat followed its patrons in, sticking to them like a stubborn, thick haze. It was a risk to leave her hat off now, in an unfamiliar place, and it increased the chance she’d be recognized, but at this point, Marivale didn’t think she had a reason to care.

Tightening her grip on the glass, Marivale swallowed half the drink back in one go and almost choked on it, but shook her head, a denial of defeat by a _drink_ of all things, and forced it down.

She could handle her drink with the best of them, but that was assuming the drink in question wasn’t just home-brewed swill from a useless, backwater rock in the middle of space. A useless, backwater rock in the middle of space that Marivale found herself trapped on.

Ordinarily, it’d be about this time Marivale would start looking into ways off-planet to start over again, but Fort Garnik offered little opportunity to plan such an escape. The main shuttleport was locked down by order of the Republic, and her only illegal way off-world had just been stolen right out from under her nose, less than a _month_ after she’d bought it and gotten settled in.

There was something ironic in the fact Marivale had just gotten her whole life yanked out from under her feet in the blink of an eye.

She _hated_ irony.

Without a way off-world, to find the bastard who stole her ship and took it to _Coruscant,_ of all places, Marivale had come here, to do the only thing she really _could_ do, at the moment: find a really stiff drink. At this point, if she got found by the many, many people that were probably looking for her, she at least wanted to be insensible when it happened. You could only dodge vindictive pirate crews for so long.

Marivale finished the drink off and pushed the glass far enough away that it would take some serious effort to reach for it again to ask for a refill. She might’ve gone for a refill, or two, or five, but at the moment, budgeting would probably be in her best interests.

Money was rarely an issue, these days, naturally, simply because her system _worked_. I mean, sure, it might mean that a whole lot of pirate crews were gunning for her blood and that nowhere would really be safe until they either killed each other for old feuds while hunting her down, or they lost her trail among the many, many independent spacers left in this galaxy, but it _worked_. Her lifestyle, nothing short of extravagant for someone in her line of work, had been funded with that method for years.

And now, it had all been stolen from _her_. _After_ she’d tried to drop off the grid for a while and let things settle before jumping back into it. Friends were a lot of work to maintain, and rarely worked out in the long term, but having one or two could’ve sure helped right at the moment. Might’ve at least gotten her the money to bribe one of the Republic guards to get her off-world, somehow.

Abruptly, someone landed in the seat next to Marivale’s with enough force to nearly knock her empty glass over, and her hand darted out to grab it before it fell. Glaring up with annoyance into the face of what had to be another frustrated spacer stuck on this forsaken planet, Marivale watched as the man’s grin widened into something she didn’t like, not one bit.

“You mind watching where you’re going?” Marivale tightened her grip on her glass and kept her tone curt, uninviting. “I’m trying to have a fucking drink here.”

“Yeah? Looks to me like you were done trying to have a drink long before we got here.” Wiry, rat-faced, with a grin full of sharp, false geniality. Marivale had seen his kind before, and every time was at least ten minutes of her life she’d never get back. “So why don’t you get another drink on us and we’ll talk about what brings someone like you out to a place like this.”

Typical. Marivale leaned her cheek on one hand and let her lips curve up into a bright, bubbly grin that was just saccharine enough to be convincing. “I have a better idea,” she said, sweet and charming, just like most people expected from a face like hers, “why don’t you turn your happy ass around and get out of my sight, before I shove this glass so far down your throat you’ll be coughing up the shards for the rest of your life.”

“Now that seems just a little uncalled for.” the man leaned down on the bar, closer to where Marivale had put herself just slightly away from the corner, and it was at that point Marivale became aware of two accomplices, lurking in her blind spot. Bastards. “We’re just trying to have a good, friendly conversation. Just trying to have a good time.”

Marivale’s grin widened, all but dripping with syrupy sweet poison. “Oh, I imagine I could show you a real good time, all right. Might not be what you expect, though.”

She felt air shift somewhere in her blind spot, and ducked, taking the first man down to the floor with a move that was more half-tackle, half-shove, and with her stature against his, his stance wide open and no defenses raised, he went down hard with a sound like she’d knocked the breath out of him.

Marivale was not a tall woman, by any stretch of the imagination, and it didn’t take much effort for the second person to wrap an arm around her neck, attempting to choke the breath out of her as her feet lifted off the ground. Lifting both legs up and planting her feet against the edge of the bar, she shoved backwards, sending both of them falling to the cantina floor. The arm around her neck went slack, and Marivale darted back to her feet, trying to ignore the sharp ache in her back from the rough landing–

–just in time for a fist to land squarely against her lip, splitting the skin and leaving a metallic taste in her mouth. Briefly stunned, she couldn’t react in time as another blow landed on her cheek, just below her one good eye.

Reaching out and snagging the collar of the person whose fists had left her with new, more tangible injuries to nurse, Marivale fully intended to unbalance him–even if it meant unbalancing them both–and make her escape, but luck, as ever, was not on her side today.

The first man, who she’d shoved bodily to the ground less than a few minutes ago, held a blaster in one hand, and without batting an eye, Marivale seized his wrist and twisted. The blaster fell to the ground and Marivale snatched it up, just in time for her other two opponents to regroup, where they cast hateful looks at her, but made no move to continue the brawl.

Everyone else in the cantina watched, half with shocked awe, half with complete disinterest, and suddenly Marivale couldn’t stand their stares, while her lip dripped with blood and her face could still be so easily recognized.

Snatching her hat up from where she’d dropped it on the bar earlier, she informed the rest of the cantina, “The drinks are shit here anyway,” before doing her best not to stumble painfully away. She didn’t even know where she ought to go now, but staying was out of the question.

Story of her damn life.

* * *

Paxton Rall believed in two things indisputably: the power of timing, and the power of a dramatic entrance.

Not two things one normally associated with Ord Mantell, especially not when it was a war zone, but luck was fickle, ever-changing, and most importantly, it looked like it was possible for the good old saying “what goes around, comes around” to hold true.

Because there was nothing that Paxton expected _less_ than to hear the sounds of a scuffle in the nearby cantina, and for Marivale Coryth herself to stumble out, lip reddened by more than the bright lipstick she favored. A bruise under her uncovered eye confirmed it– _she’d_ been the one causing a ruckus. Hardly a surprise.

Perfect timing, _and_ a suitably dramatic entrance, _and_ the possibility of collecting on a debt long overdue. Maybe the day was turning around after all.

Marivale leaned heavily against the cantina’s outer wall and swiped blood away with the back of her gloved hand, blonde hair sitting limply over her forehead, damp with sweat from the overwhelmingly sunny day. She looked, in a word, defeated, and defeat wasn’t exactly the _norm_ when it came to Marivale.

“Well, well,” he drawled, and watched Marivale’s shoulders stiffen abruptly where she leaned against the wall, “if it isn’t Captain Coryth herself. _Quite_ a lucky break we bumped into each other, wouldn’t you say?”

Marivale groaned and covered her face with one hand, the other still holding her hat. “If you’re here to kill me, it’d be a mercy at this point.”

“Now why would I kill you just yet,” Paxton leaned on the wall with one ankle crossed behind the other, hardly a care in the world by all appearances, even as a kind of vindictive glee kept him nearly buzzing where he stood, “when I know you still owe me a _significant_ debt?”

He wasn’t the only one, of course. When he’d returned to his crew’s ship one day and found them all unconscious with half the funds missing from their entire reserve, Paxton had done some due diligence, and it hadn’t taken too long to figure out Marivale had earned _quite_ a reputation with most two-bit pirate crews in the Outer Rim–whatever remained of them, at least.

The main difference, see, between Marivale’s known tactics in the past and those she’d exercised against _his_ people was that Marivale was typically known for gutting the command structure of most crews she left–sometimes literally–and taking them for all they were worth. Was he _thrilled_ Marivale had temporarily incapacitated his crew and drained half his funds before giving them the slip? No, not really. He’d be a fool, though, to not realize it could’ve been worse.

And he’d _also_ be a fool not to recognize an opportunity when it fell directly into his hands, bloodied lip and all, after over a year of trying to make up the difference from what she’d stolen.

“I don’t have your money.” Marivale finally told him, flat and _tired. Defeated_ , he reminded himself, and that was something he could still use.

“Well, that sounds an awful lot to me like a personal problem.” Paxton folded his arms and arched a brow in time for Marivale to glare up at him, annoyance etched into the lines of her faintly sunburnt face. “And I fail to see how you could have spent half my crew’s fortune in a little over a year. Even with the way you spend money.”

Marivale’s grin was empty and dry. “You think I’m camping out here in _Fort Garnik_ just for kicks? I don’t have your money. That was the truth. I’ve only spent about half. The _other_ half is stashed on my ship, which got _stolen_ less than three hours ago. You want your credits, take it up with the thief.”

Shocked momentarily speechless, Paxton considered this situation: Marivale Coryth, notorious for her thievery of other pirate crews’ fortunes, had it all stolen from _her_. All he could do was throw back his head and _laugh._

He _loved_ irony.

Marivale’s face twisted into a scowl and she lowered herself onto a nearby crate, elbows resting on her knees. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up all you want. When you’re _done_ , we can try to get you those credits back.”

“ _We_ can, can we?” Paxton recovered enough to rest one fist on his hip. “You think I’d be stupid enough to work with you after everything else–”

“Not a matter of stupidity. It’s a matter of intelligence, actually.” Marivale didn’t look _confident_ , per se, but she looked like she was weighing something up–him, the situation, even after knowing her for nearly a year when she’d run with his crew, it was still damn near impossible to tell for sure. “I know where the thief took my ship, but I don’t have a way to get there. Guess I can assume you’ve got your ship here. You want your credits back, you help me get my ship back, everyone wins.”

“What about the other half?”

Marivale arched one elegant brow. “I’m sorry?”

Paxton would’ve pointed out the irony of her saying so, but doubted she would appreciate it. “You said you’d spent about _half_ my crew’s fortune. Find a way to cough the rest of it up, or we don’t have a deal.”

“I can’t very well earn you your credits back without a damned ship, Rall.”

“Then I take it you’ll be thinking awfully hard of ways to earn it back by the time we find your ship, provided we do find it?”

Jaw set in a stubborn line, Marivale looked him in the eye and said, “You ought to have some experience with this by now, but in case you haven’t noticed, I have a unique talent for producing money from unlikely sources. You’ll get your credits back if we find my ship. Deal?”

Marivale held out one hand, gaze even, and Paxton regarded it for a moment like she was offering him a coiled viper instead of a deal that seemed far too good to be true, for Marivale. “And just what are you getting out of this, Coryth?”

“My ship,” Marivale shot back without missing a beat, “I thought we covered that.”

“Hard to believe you don’t have some angle here. Can’t blame me for being suspicious.”

“No, I suppose I can’t, but I think you know the truth of things well enough.” Marivale still held her hand out, waiting. “I’m low on options and even lower on friends. If I have to give you your money back to keep from having packs of rabidly vindictive pirate crews fall on me while I wait for things to die down, fine. Rather it be you I’m paying back than any of the other crews I stole from.”

Still, Paxton regarded Marivale’s outstretched hand with no small amount of wariness before finally reaching out to firmly shake it, her grip strong and sure. “Just so long as we’re clear,” he told her, a pit of something he hated to call _dread_ settling in his stomach, “this ain’t gonna turn into a permanent arrangement again. We’ll be watching you, Coryth.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” pulling her mask and helmet on and fastening the hat on top, Marivale braced her hands on her knees before rocking back to her feet. “Lead the way, partner.”


End file.
